


the rest is silence

by Waywarder



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: “You did it for me,” he said, quietly, eyes still shining with concern. “You did it for me, and maybe it was bad.”Crowley thought about it for a moment before reciting:“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”Aziraphale lunged for him.AfterHamlet, Aziraphale and Crowley linger.Thank you to the incomparable, ineffableelizabethelizabethfor their help! You're the best!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	the rest is silence

After _Hamlet,_ they lingered. Let the rest of the crowd and the Groundlings wander back out into the world. Sort of meandered around in the shadows until even the actors had made their way home.

Crowley stepped up on to the stage, offering Aziraphale his hand as he did so. The angel took it, wordlessly, and followed. It was nighttime now; it had been a long play, after all. 

They looked out onto the empty yard as darkness fell around them. It was Aziraphale who finally broke the silence:

“I hope it’s alright, you know,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Turning _Hamlet_ into a success, I mean. It was awfully kind of you, but maybe it was the wrong thing to do.”

Crowley scoffed. “Hardly. It’s not like anyone’s going to still be talking about gloomy old _Hamlet_ years from now. You worry too much.”

“Well, and you don’t worry enough,” Aziraphale had turned fully to face him now, and Crowley thought he noticed a sort of desperation in the angel’s eyes.

“It’s fine, angel.”

“You did it for me,” he said, quietly, eyes still shining with concern. “You did it for me, and maybe it was bad.”

Crowley thought about it for a moment before reciting: 

“ _There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so._ ”

Aziraphale lunged for him. Unprepared for his words’ effect on the angel, Crowley crashed to the stage, and, this time at least, Aziraphale fell with him. If the angel was remotely fazed by the tumble, he certainly didn’t act it, choosing instead to slide his tongue into Crowley’s mouth as soon as the demon opened it in a surprised yelp.

And Crowley had a hundred questions, a thousand maybe, but, for once, he couldn’t bring himself to ask a single one of them. He chased Aziraphale’s tongue with his own, wrapped his arms tightly around his friend’s back, and kissed him like he’d never have the chance to kiss him again.

Because, of course, perhaps, he might not.

Aziraphale, his hands now working quickly on the laces of Crowley’s doublet, wrenched his mouth away, and began to kiss and suck along the length of Crowley’s neck, only pausing the murmur to the demon.

“It was marvelous, my dear. _You_ are marvelous. Oh, Crowley. _Crowley._ Thank you, thank you.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut at the praise, fighting to ignore the fire that it stoked deep within his guts. He didn’t deserve this. It was just a stupid play. He hadn’t done anything to make Aziraphale say his name in such reverent, lustful tones.

Not yet.

Doublet unlaced and beginning to slip off his shoulders, Crowley pushed himself up onto his elbows, shifting Aziraphale with him in the process. The angel pulled away for a moment, and the desire there in his grey eyes was too much. Crowley’s blood was scalding. If this was what this was- if this was some sort of _thank you_ \- he was going to fucking earn it.

“Stand up, angel,” Crowley tried to demand, but it came out of his mouth a plea, hoarse and nearly breathless.

“Oh, not yet, darling, please,” Aziraphale responded as though he was reading Crowley’s filthy mind, as though he already knew exactly where Crowley wanted them to end up.

So, Crowley nodded. He’d waited this long. Shuffling up to his knees, he wrapped his arms again around Aziraphale, and the angel returned the embrace. And, for a moment, they just held one another, breathing in deep breaths that neither one of them needed, feeling the unnecessary pounding of the other’s heart. 

As they held one another, there on the empty stage beneath the cover of stars, a million thoughts flashed through Crowley’s mind. All the things he’d ever wanted to do to and with and for Aziraphale over the centuries. He thought of feeding the angel fresh strawberries from his fingers, thought of waking him up in the morning with a gentle kiss, thought of bending him over anything, everything and fucking into him from behind, fucking him until nothing else in the universe mattered anymore. 

It took Aziraphale squeezing him more tightly to make him realize that he was crying.

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling away and bringing a hand up to stroke Crowley’s cheek. “Perhaps this is too much, perhaps-”

“If you pull away from me now,” Crowley hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ll-”

There was no threat that wasn’t empty. There was no harm that Crowley would let befall Aziraphale, and they both knew it.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale whispered again, but his fingers were already wandering from Crowley’s face down to the exposed skin of his chest. Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s copper chest hair, and Crowley moaned at the touch.

“I’m sure,” he answered. And now, tears shining on his face, he demanded again: “Stand up, angel.”

“This is supposed to be about you,” Aziraphale lamely protested one more time. 

Crowley shook his head. “No. ‘M not done giving you things. Stand up.”

Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss Crowley, more slowly and sweetly than he had so far, and then, wobbling just a little, got up to his feet.

_Funny,_ Crowley thought to himself as he began to undo the buttons on Aziraphale’s slops. He’d always assumed his fingers would be trembling if they’d ever made it to this moment. That he’d be too completely overwhelmed to not be clumsy as he undid the beautiful angel before him. But, now, here, he’d never felt steadier.

He looked up at Aziraphale above him as he began to push down the slops and the hose. The angel was gazing down at him, grey eyes full of panic and want. The moon illuminating his white-blonde hair was nearly enough to make Crowley reconsider. What right did he have to lay his Hell-hands on this perfect creature?

But then Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley’s hair and pulled, and Crowley forgot everything about Heaven or Hell. There was only Earth. There was only now. There was only this man-shaped being that he loved.

And, again, he had pictured this before. Had imagined himself making a show of it, of licking coyly at just the tip of Aziraphale’s cock, of running his fingers up and down the length of him, of making the angel beg him for more.

It so rarely goes the way we think it will.

He wrapped his lips around Aziraphale’s cock, and immediately took him in as deep as he could. Aziraphale cried out above him, and _That’s right,_ Crowley thought. _It’s the theatre, angel. Sing out for me._

Crowley hummed around the base of Aziraphale’s cock, and the angel tightened his grip on Crowley’s hair. Crowley took his cue and began to drag his lips up and down, swirling his tongue everywhere he could reach as he did so. He didn’t give a damn about finesse. He was desperate and sloppy and determined. Saliva dripped down his chin, through his beard, and onto the stage, there to mingle with stale and already ancient actors’ sweat and tears.

“Crowley, I’m,” Aziraphale panted above him. “My dear, I’m-”

Crowley pulled his mouth away just in time, looking up to watch Aziraphale’s face as the angel cried and shook and came all over his face. Aziraphale’s eyes were clenched tightly shut, head thrown back against the ink-black sky, but Crowley didn’t dare to look away.

Because it was some remarkable essence of _Aziraphale_ that covered his face, that dripped down his chin and cheeks and nose, that now mingled in his red, pointed beard. He yearned for a mirror. Yearned to be able to see himself as Aziraphale could now. 

_Of course I did it for you. I’ll do it all for you._

Shaking, Aziraphale sank down to his knees to join Crowley once again on the stage. Crowley mourned the absence of Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair. Aziraphale raised his fingers instead to perform a miracle, but Crowley reached out to grab his hand. Aziraphale looked at him with wide, confused eyes.

“Leave it,” Crowley breathed. He wanted to remember. Wanted to fall asleep with something of Aziraphale staining his face, drying in his beard. He would wash up in the morning, he _would._

But tonight… 

“ _O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I,_ ” Crowley whispered. 

They sat onstage quietly and watched once again as the sky melted from night into day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know it's more Shakes-kissing, but I don't think it really fits well with my similarly themed series, so this one's hanging out on its own.


End file.
